


Where You Are

by flyby



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-16
Updated: 2009-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-04 11:51:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyby/pseuds/flyby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akira follows Shindou to Innoshima at the height of summer, hoping for answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Otherwise known as the Obon fic. Set a few months after the end of the manga.
> 
> Title from the song of the same name by the October Project, for mood, inadvertent soundtrack, and inspiration.

"I beg your pardon?"

Akira, usually resigned to his rival's eccentricities, thinks that perhaps he's misheard. He's rapidly proved wrong as Shindou crosses his arms defensively.

"I _said_, you're free next week, so you should come to Innoshima with me." He says it as though it's some kind of logical conclusion.

"Have you completely lost your mind?" Akira snaps, slamming a stone onto the board to cut one of Shindou's half-formed eyes. "To begin with, I'm _not_ free – and why on earth should I go with you to Innoshima, of all places?" There are better times for a Shuusaku tour, and Shindou must know it. "Why do _you_ want to go to Innoshima?"

"For Obon." Shindou scowls mightily and flips a black stone into his fingers, laying a hane. "You don't have games Monday or Tuesday – I checked."

"I have _study sessions_," Akira points out, reading the board for a moment before extending. "Bon was a month ago, Shindou." He realises his mistake almost immediately, as Shindou straightens triumphantly in his seat.

"Hiroshima does Old Bon."

And Old Bon, Akira realises with a little surprise, is indeed next week. He's aware of the date; his schedule doesn't allow otherwise, but suddenly it seems as though between games and tournaments and shidougo, time has passed at a headlong rush. Where did July go? As if to underscore this, Shindou plays a tsuke, cutting off further extension and putting him into atari.

"Tokyo has already observed it," Akira points out absently, eyes on the goban as he reads ahead rapidly. No games had been scheduled for the three days, and his parents had flown home from China. Black's shape here is in danger, but there's a chance for it to survive by connecting into the lower left corner. Akira narrows his eyes and plays a soft connection of his own to disrupt that. "Why do you need to celebrate twice?"

"I have to do something." Shindou scowls at the board, and plays a hand that at first glance seems entirely unrelated. "My mom won't let me go on my own, after last time."

"Last time?" Akira knows better than to fall into his rival's traps. Thoughtfully, he sits back, looking up at Shindou, who is still reading the board, eyes wide and distant.

"Uh-huh," he says without looking up. Akira narrows his eyes, reaching blindly for a stone. "I kind of took off without telling her, last May."

The _pa-chi_ as he plays his ate is suddenly loud in Akira's ears. "Last May?" It's another piece to the puzzle, because there is only one May Shindou can be referring to. Akira thinks wildly of forfeits, the Wakajishisen, Waya 2-dan's words at the International Amateurs – _"As if Shuusaku has learned modern joseki."_

"I'll go," he hears himself saying, as if from a distance. Study sessions can be cancelled, and Ashiwara-san is unlikely to mind too much if Akira reschedules their planned game.

"Kawai-san was –" Shindou breaks off, startled, looking up at him. "Really? You will?"

"I said so, didn't I?" Shindou looks so surprised – and _happy_ – that Akira scowls, looking down at the goban to hide his sudden discomfort. He's leading by about three moku, but there is still space for that to change. "Play," he demands, a little more sharply than he'd intended. Shindou visibly starts, and reaches hastily for his goke.

* * *

Akira wins by one and a half moku, less than expected. Uncomfortably aware that it hasn't been his best Go ever, he glares at the board, notes the weak hand that cost him his strong lead, and starts a fight for the reassurance of it.

"What was this?" He points sharply to the upper right, where White had easily avoided an obvious trap, and glares at his rival.

Shindou glares back. "There's nothing wrong with that hand – just because it didn't carry through –"

"Like I would have let you get away with that!" Akira is vaguely aware that his voice is rising, that the small group of regulars who'd drifted over to watch are vanishing hastily. Shindou's eyes are sharp green with anger, locked with his.

"Why the hell did you respond here, then, huh?" He waves a hand; Akira doesn't need to look to know that he's referring to the nobi left of tengen. "If you'd gone higher, you could have forced me to resign!"

Akira blinks, startled, and breaks their locked gaze to look down at the board. Shindou is right, though he'd been intending to defend rather than to grab territory. He bites his mouth shut on an _I see_, instead grating out, "I _won_, Shindou."

"I know that!" Shindou yells, his fists clenched on the table. "That doesn't mean I'll let you get away with crappy Go! Don't look down on me!"

That gives Akira pause for a second, but he's too wound up to back down quite yet. Anger is a seething discomfort in the pit of his stomach. "I've _never_ played you less than seriously!" he hisses. Shindou flinches infinitesimally, but then rallies.

"Oh yeah? It sure looked like it today! You should have gone here, and here, to cut me off!" Shindou knows him well; Akira has played similar hands any number of times.

"What good is that, if you're expecting it?" he demands, unnerved. "Play your own Go!"

"I do!" Shindou slams his palms down on the table, shoving his chair back. "I'm leaving!"

"Fine!" Akira glares after his back as he storms out, gathering the black and white stones by touch. The burn of anger is rapidly souring into resignation and discomfort.

"Akira-kun?" Ichikawa-san approaches with a tray, as she always does when Shindou ends their post-game discussions by walking out. There's a hesitation in her step today, though. "Would you like some tea?"

"Thank you," Akira murmurs, sweeping the white stones into his goke before starting on Shindou's. The cup, when he reaches for it, is almost unbearably warm in his hands despite the air conditioning. He will have to pack his summer yukata, for Shindou's pilgrimage.

Akira makes sure to thank Ichikawa-san for the tea as he leaves, vaguely aware of her dimple and blush, and he takes the elevator down to the ground floor. Even still, walking out of the doors into the soupy air is an unpleasant shock. What isn't surprising, somehow, is Shindou, leaning against the wall under the overhang, out of the summer rain. _Oh_, Akira thinks, hands pausing on the handle of his umbrella.

"Touya." Shindou pushes off the wall with one sneakered foot, looking anywhere but at him. "The train's at eight-thirty on Sunday."

"I see." Akira nods, considering plans. "Where are you planning on staying?"

"Huh?" Shindou blinks at him, then shrugs. "Same place as before, I guess, or we'll find a motel or something."

Akira breathes deeply. "Shindou, it's Obon. I'll call ahead and make a reservation." He shakes his umbrella free, putting it up with a snap. "Don't you have a coat? You'll get soaked."

Shindou stares at him for a moment, then glances out at the rain. "I left my umbrella at home – it was fine this morning." He looks entirely unconcerned by the downpour, to Akira's irritation.

"Here." He extends the umbrella like a peace offering, pleased when Shindou ducks unhesitatingly beneath it, crowding against his side. By the time they reach the subway entrance, Akira's left arm is soaked to the shoulder, but the earlier discomfort is beginning to dissolve.

* * *

To his surprise, when he arrives at Tokyo Station Shindou is waiting at the ticket machines, leaning against a pillar and somehow managing to look as impatient as if he is hopping from foot to foot. Akira checks his watch surreptitiously, but it's barely ten minutes past eight, and there is plenty of time.

"Man, Touya," Shindou complains without even greeting him, "you couldn't have worn normal clothes for once? It's not a seminar!"

Akira looks down at his neat shirt and trousers, then up at his rival's admittedly more casual shorts and t-shirt. He can't imagine himself in anything like what Shindou wears, but now is perhaps not the best time to say so. He feeds his JR card into the machine.

"Good morning, Shindou."

"Ah, yeah." Shindou scratches the back of his head, looking contrite, and shoulders his backpack. "Hi."

Akira turns his face away to hide his smile, and collects his ticket from the slot. "Which platform is it?"

"This way." Shindou points. "I brought a magnetic board – we can play on the train."

Considering how most of their casual game discussions tend to end these days, Akira is uncertain of the wisdom of this, but any game with Shindou is worth the stares. They end up playing all the way into yose, although Akira's advantage is solid; he sits back, satisfied, as Shindou places the last stone. The sun shining through the window is hot on his left arm and shoulder, and he lifts the game into the light, examining the flow of the stones.

"This is a good shape." Shindou leans over him unapologetically to point out the upper left corner, where a typically unconventional move had drawn Akira in to protect and resulted in an unexpected triple eye formation.

"Yes," Akira agrees. "That was a good hand."

"You think so?" Shindou grins, and Akira looks away, passing the board back so he can get out his book. "I lost it here, though," Shindou continues, and Akira bites his tongue to keep from agreeing; the passengers around them, mostly businessmen looking uncomfortable in suits, though there are some vacationing families at the other end of the carriage, are already looking askance at their conversation.

"I should have protected earlier," Shindou continues as he scrapes the stones off the board. "It was a good game though, right Touya? Oh hey," he adds, sudden interest in his voice as he peers over Akira's shoulder. "Kifu?"

The rest of the journey passes in a similarly peaceable fashion, though, as Akira discovers, Shindou has a tendency to argue with the author's analysis of games. They arrive in Onomichi just after one-thirty, with the sun bright overhead, baking down on the city. Akira looks around with interest – he hasn't been here since childhood, years ago – but Shindou is already heading determinedly for the bus stop, calling over his shoulder.

"Come on, Touya! This way!" Akira follows silently, watches the way he peers around at the stands before brightening and striking out for one. The bus to the port is already waiting, and they crowd onto it, joining the disparate throng of businessmen and couples and young families who must surely be returning to ancestral homes. Akira, sitting several rows behind Shindou as the bus pulls out of the station, wonders what he is doing here. He watches the buildings go past, concrete and stone and the green pockets of parks, and thinks of last year. It's been almost exactly a year since Shindou appeared before him out of the blue, to announce his return to the world of the pros, and though Akira has a handful of speculation, scattered like half-formed eyes on a board, he is still no closer to the truth than he ever was. The one thing he _knows_ is that Shindou's Go is not Sai's Go.

The bus stops in the business district, disgorging passengers, and Akira moves aside to let a salaryman escape the stifling confines, then shifts into the window seat, watching the sunlight sparkle off the distant ocean.

"Here." Shindou slides into the empty seat beside him, offering a bottle of water that's somehow still faintly cool; he must have bought it at the station. Akira takes a long drink, wipes off the rim, passes it over.

"The Honinbou third round games begin next week," Akira says, apropos of nothing in particular, except that another road sign has brought his mind back to where they are.

"Uh-huh. I'm playing on Monday," Shindou says entirely too casually, leaning over Akira to peer out of the window.

"I know." Akira leans back out of the way. He has a league game of his own, but knows he will make a point of checking his rival's results. Shindou shows every sign of breaking into the leagues this year. Another three wins and he will even, finally, make 2-dan.

"Look!" Shindou is still leaning over him, pointing out the sweeping roof of a temple in the distance. "To – I mean, Shuusaku played there, and they still have the gobans and stones. The guy'll even let you play on them, if you're careful."

"Shindou," Akira complains sharply, shoved back into the seat. "It's too hot. Sit still." Shindou just laughs, though, as he settles back in his own seat, and soon the bus is drawing to a halt.

The hum of cicadas, as they step out into the sun, is almost overpowering, and Akira abruptly wonders how long it's been, since he's been away from the city. Shindou is looking around with the strangest expression on his face, part eagerness and part nostalgic almost-sadness. Already resigned to his fate of tagging after his rival on the museum trail, Akira sighs and takes charge, consulting his printed map for directions to the guest-house.

The ferry slipway, as it turns out, is crowded with travellers making their way home for Obon. Akira watches Shindou stop in the road and make a face, and carefully doesn't ask what he expected, because it's obvious that this – whatever this is – is important to Shindou. Instead they go to the local museum, and then to the temple Shindou had pointed out from bus, where Akira insists on stopping at the shrine to ring the bell and bow _before_ they examine the Shuusaku exhibits.

"It's Shindou-kun, isn't it?" The curator seems surprised to see them, but gets out the antique gobans without complaint. "Last time was Golden Week, though, not Bon. Do you have family in the area?"

"Nuh-uh." Shindou seems preoccupied, one hand laid flat on the kaya as though between tengen and hoshi he can feel the heartbeat of the ancient wood. After a moment, though, he looks up with a familiar grin. "Hey Touya, wanna play? We can, right?" he asks the curator, whose eyes on Akira are suddenly sharp with recognition.

"Touya Akira?" He sounds both surprised and thoughtful. "I don't see why not – they may be antiques, but they were made to be used, after all."

"Right, right." Shindou settles in front of the goban and looks up expectantly. "Come on, Touya."

* * *

Akira doesn't know what he expected, but somehow the three-and-a-half moku win isn't it. He stares at the board as Shindou discusses the game with the curator – and the half dozen or so onlookers who have gathered, curious. It's unmistakeably Shindou's Go, and the flashes of Sai are just that – nothing more, Akira thinks, than memories, now. To one who can see it, his own game must show his father's hand.

"Man, Touya," Shindou says as they're leaving the shrine, a lazy grin on his face as he strolls, his arms linked behind his head. "Are you sick or something? You haven't screamed at me once, even though I totally miscalculated that tsuke."

Akira raises an eyebrow – he's tired, and hot, and while the idea of an all-out fight is quite appealing, if only to break the tension that is quietly knotting his stomach, they are in public and there is nowhere for either of them to storm off to. He's opening his mouth to retort when a shout breaks his concentration.

"Ah! You!" A burly man who Akira vaguely recognises appears from the crowd of temple-goers, pointing more than a little rudely at Shindou. "Damn it, do you know how much I lost on you, kid?!"

"Ah!" Shindou flails, for a moment seeming much younger. "Shuuhei-san!"

"Don't you 'Ah! Shuuhei-san!' me!" The older man, who Akira belatedly recognises as a recent amateur champion, shakes Shindou by the shoulder. "What was that loss to Korea, huh? _And_ all those forfeits last year – are you trying to disrespect me?"

"Hey!" Shindou backs away, protesting, and almost trips over; Akira props him up with a hand on his sleeve, wondering exactly what Shindou had spent his last visit doing.

"You owe me a rematch!" Shuuhei-san demands, and Akira is surprised when Shindou shakes his head, refusing.

"Not today, old man; I'm starving. Touya, let's go get dinner –"

"Who's an old man, brat?!" Shuuhei-san's eyes, though, are sharp on Akira, who bows, feeling that at least one of them should show some manners. "Fine, I'll leave you to it, but you'd better stop by the salon before you leave!"

"What, you want me to crush you again?" Shindou sticks out his tongue, but he's smiling as he waves to his – friend? Akira doesn't know. Thoughtfully, he follows Shindou down the street toward an okonomiyaki restaurant, wondering. He'd been so sure that there were answers here, but all he's found so far are more questions. Why had Shindou taken off for Innoshima, apparently out of nowhere, right before abandoning Go? What had he found, or lost, here?

To Akira's surprise, when they return to the guest-house a goban has been laid out for them in their room. Shindou makes a pleased sound and appropriates both goke while Akira takes the first bath. When he returns, none the wiser for the soak, Shindou has laid out a game and is examining it, chin propped on his hand and apparently deep in thought. He has opened the shoji so that the evening breeze stirs the room, and Akira stands at the door looking out as he dries his hair for bed. The guest-house garden slopes down the hill toward the harbour, and between trees and sloping roofs Akira can see the distant blue of the sea where it meets the island on one side, the sky on the other.

When he turns back, Shindou has vanished, leaving the stones on the goban. Curious, Akira kneels to look, recognising their game of this afternoon. The shape is good, but some of Shindou's responses to his hands now seem less than satisfactory. Neither is it his own best game; less aggression at the centre, he thinks, could have consolidated Black's position and avoided the ko fight in the endgame.

The door rolls open and shut behind him, and Akira looks up, already pointing to the board. "What was this hand?" he demands crossly, and is momentarily taken aback by the sight of Shindou in the guest house yukata, looking not at all like himself as he scrubs at his hair with a towel.

"Huh?" Shindou blinks at him for a moment, clearly nonplussed, then drops down on the other side of the board, towel draped forgotten around his shoulders. "What's wrong with it?"

"You blocked yourself from connecting into the upper right!" Akira sits back on his heels, folding his arms.

"Yeah, well, I thought you'd go here." Shindou's finger stabs at the board. "Then I'd have gone _here_, see?"

Akira does; it's an interesting strategy that could have gained Shindou a substantial territory advantage, if Akira himself was a complete idiot.

"What possessed you to think I'd fall for that?" he demands irritably. Shindou huffs air through his nose, and a droplet of water falls from the bleached tips of his hair onto the sleeve of his yukata.

"Yeah, like you wouldn't fall for that cut either," he scoffs waving sharply at the protracted territory squabble just below tengen. Akira narrows his eyes, because he _hadn't_ seen Shindou's true intentions there until a hand too late, but he'd salvaged his eyes anyway by pulling them deeper, into the centre.

"At least I don't waste hands on pointless atari," he bites out, watching Shindou bridle with a strange sort of satisfaction.

"Oh yeah? Well you –" Shindou's irate voice is interrupted by an explosion overhead. Akira jumps, heart inexplicably in his throat as another bang shakes the air. The twilight sky outside lights up with sudden brief flashes of colour, and Akira breathes again as Shindou jumps up, almost tripping over his yukata as he heads to the veranda.

"Fireworks!" He sounds as delighted as a child, and Akira ducks his head and clears the goban efficiently before getting to his feet and stepping out to watch.

"They're early," he notes, and Shindou glances aside at him.

"It's probably just kids or something." The real display, Akira knows, will be tomorrow.

* * *

Whether it's the change of air or the unfamiliar quiet, he doesn't know, but for a moment when Akira wakes he almost thinks it's day. Sleep-muddled, it takes him a moment to realise that the shoji are open, moonlight spilling into the room, and Shindou is not in his futon. He struggles upright, blinking sleep out of his eyes, to find his rival seated on the veranda, fan in hand and the goban laid out before him as though he has paused in replaying a game.

Drawn by something he doesn't quite understand, more than simple curiosity, Akira rises as if in a dream, padding slowly out to examine the board. The game, though one he has never seen before, is somehow familiar, even barely out of fuseki. Certain that he recognises both hands here, Akira waits for Shindou to lay another hand, but as seconds bleed into dreamlike moonlit minutes, he gradually realises that, for whatever reason, Shindou has no more stones to play. Silently, with an inexplicable lump in his throat, Akira returns to his futon to lie staring at the ceiling until he hears the soft tread of Shindou's feet returning to his own bed.

* * *

"I resign." Shuuhei-san, Akira thinks, sounds neither surprised nor particularly regretful. Shindou leans back on his hands, grinning.

"Told you so, old man." From the interested looks they'd gathered as soon as they entered the salon, Akira can deduce that the last game between these two must have been memorable.

"Yeah, yeah." Shuuhei-san eyes the board for a moment then begins to clear it. "Don't get too full of yourself, brat. You still haven't beaten your friend here, right?" He looks to Akira. "How about it, kid? Can I get a game of shidougo from the famous Touya 3-dan?"

Uncertain whether he's being mocked, Akira hesitates, and Shindou puffs up like an irate porcupine.

"Shidougo?!"

"That's fine," Akira begins, but Shindou grabs his arm, hauling him to his feet.

"Tough luck, old man, we've got stuff to do! See ya!"

"Shindou!" Akira yelps, stumbling out after his rival, who is still muttering about shidougo.

"This way." Shindou sets out determinedly, seemingly careless of the afternoon sun, and Akira has to lengthen his strides to keep pace with him. He doesn't realise until they reach a familiar street that they are heading to the bus stop, but suddenly the kanji for Inno Island on the destination board seem very inevitable, as though they have been heading there all day.

The bus is almost deserted, and Akira sits in uncomfortable silence, watching Shindou stare out of the window at the water speeding by beneath the bridge. By the time they arrive at the cemetery, he is sleepy from the heat, nursing an incipient headache.

Bowing at the tiny shrine, he waits while Shindou fills a wooden bucket at the fountain, and trails in his wake as he heads unerringly up the hill into the forest of stones and markers. It seems a long way, and the heady scent of fresh incense hangs in the hot air. Akira, looking around at the hundreds of newly cleaned memorials, almost walks into Shindou's back when he halts, turning off the path.

"Here." He needn't have spoken; the marker is clearly carved, the stone gleaming in the sunlight. Akira presses his hands together, bows respectfully, and steps to the side to watch as Shindou kneels before the grave, setting about washing it with careful, ritual motions. The water that drips from his cloth runs smoothly down the face of the stone, forming puddles that shrink quickly in the summer heat.

At length, Shindou sits back, dropping his cloth back into the bowl and dragging a crumpled packet out of his pocket – incense. He has clearly prepared for this trip. Akira swallows, suddenly feeling that he is intruding on something private.

Shindou bows again as he lights the incense, but instead of picking up his bowl to leave, he just stands for a long moment, watching the smoke draw a haze over Honinbou Shuusaku's name.

"Shindou?" Akira asks eventually, uncertain and hushed – it is, after all, a cemetery. At the sound of his voice, Shindou visibly starts, as though he's forgotten Akira is even there.

"Really, it should be Kyoto," he says, as though that explains anything. "He was happy here, though."

Stunned, Akira stumbles back down the hill after him. It's on the tip of his tongue to ask – who is Shindou? Who is – was – Sai? And what does Kyoto have to do with anything? It's as though Shindou is being purposefully mystifying, and for a moment Akira seriously considers the idea that his rival has no plans to tell him anything, but is waiting for him to figure it out for himself.

"C'mon, Touya." Shindou turns to him at the gates, grinning like a child. "Let's go down to the sea!"

"What?" Akira says, thrown, then, "Why?"

"Because it's the sea!" Shindou grabs his arm, his fingers hot and damp through the thin cotton of Akira's shirt, and Akira goes because it's that or be dragged. Shindou leads him down back roads, following signs past the little fishing port and across a narrow wooden bridge to a short stretch of beach that's more pebbles and shingle than sand. Akira watches with a sense of detached disbelief as Shindou sheds his sandals and wades knee-deep into the low waves, soaking the hems of his shorts.

"It's been years since I've been to the ocean!" He turns to grin at Akira, outlined against the deep blue of the sky with the sun in his hair. Akira can't really remember ever having been to the beach, though his mother has a handful of photographs of him as a child. He's about to say so, the admission strange and thick in his throat, when Shindou slips, arms windmilling as he narrowly avoids soaking himself entirely, and somehow Akira ends up buying them takoyaki at a stall near the harbour as Shindou sprawls in the sunshine attempting to dry his shorts. There is sand in his shoes.

They start a game of speed Go on Shindou's magnetic goban, but as the shadows lengthen into evening the sound of revelry from up the hill breaks into their concentration.

"Bon dances," Akira realises, and Shindou brightens, jumping to his feet.

"The last bus back isn't for ages. Let's go see!" Akira acquiesces with a nod, scraping the stones off the board and folding it as they start up the road. It's rare enough for him to get the chance to see this sort of thing, even in Tokyo, and every region has its own speciality.

The main square, when they reach it, is lit up like a festival, with crowds already gathering to watch the dancers. Akira pauses respectfully, listening to singers, and when he turns, flushed with the knowing innuendo of the traditional lyrics, Shindou is nowhere to be seen.  
It takes him fully five minutes to find his rival, and even then he almost misses him; only the bright yellow of Shindou's t-shirt catches his eye as he passes the lantern-maker's stall.

"_There_ you are." _What do you think you're doing?_ Akira wants to ask, and _Why did you even bring me here?_ Abruptly, he feels incredibly out of place, and has to suppress the childish desire to abandon this fool's quest and go home.

"Oh, Touya!" Shindou turns and grins at him, his purchases tucked under his arms, and Akira sighs. He should really know better than to expect answers; when has Shindou ever been anything but a mystery?

"What did you buy?" he asks curiously as Shindou joins him, hoping his rival hasn't spotted the ramen stand on the other side of the square. Shindou is oddly silent, though, and when Akira looks over at him he's surprised to find him looking back, eyes shadowed but steady.

"Hey, Touya," Shindou starts, then pauses for so long that Akira opens his mouth to prompt him just as he goes on, "Would you – help me with something?"

Akira's first instinct, strangely, is disbelief that Shindou could need his help with anything. He swallows the instinctive demurral, though, because it's clear from Shindou's eyes that this is important.

"What do you need me to do?" he asks, quietly, and Shindou's sudden smile of relief only doubles his certainty that all of this – Shuusaku, Sai, his infuriating, enthralling rival – is connected.

"Let's go back down to the harbour," Shindou says, and this time he waits for Akira's nod of acquiescence before setting out. Akira wonders what that means, as they meander slowly down through the darkening streets to where the fishing boats rock gently at their moorings. The wind off the sea, salt-scented, stirs at his hair as Shindou halts at the edge of the dock, sitting down cross-legged on the bare cobbles.

"Here, you do this one." Akira kneels beside him as Shindou hands over a package of paper and thin wooden board. A lantern, he realises, pieces slotting together in his mind as he follows Shindou's lead in assembling the pre-folded frame and fixing it to the board. There are ink marks on the paper, but it's already dim enough that Akira can barely read the kanji.

"Your calligraphy is terrible," he says, shifting to get a better view – Torajirou? It takes him a moment to place Shuusaku's childhood name. To his surprise, Shindou laughs as he pulls out a pair of squat candles and a matchbook.

"Yeah, I know. Let's go down to the water." He takes the precipitous steps down to the pontoon jetty as though he is in his own home, sure-footed and effortlessly confident. Akira inches carefully down after him, one hand firmly on the fraying rope handrail. The wooden slats of the walkway sway beneath their feet, rising and falling with the motion of the water.

"Hold it still for me?" Shindou kneels at the edge, striking a match, and Akira holds out his lantern obediently, gripping the edges of the board in both hands as the candle flares to life. The flickering light casts strange shadows over Shindou's quiet smile as he takes the lantern, setting it gently onto the water. "I never know whether to be sorry for him, or jealous of him."

"He was the closest to the Hand of God," Akira says; it's clear from Shindou's suddenly distant expression that, somehow, this is not at all what he'd meant.

"Mm." He strikes another match, bending to light the second lantern. Against the flare of the candle flame, the clumsy black characters are clear.

"Fujiwara," Akira hears himself murmur; he has a sudden sense that the world has stopped turning, everything receding from the circle of candlelight. His mouth is dry, and he has to lick his lips before he can ask. "How... do you read that?"

Shindou looks up at him, eyes dark and ancient in the glow of that single light. "Fujiwara no Sai," he murmurs, voice all but lost in the lapping murmur of the waves, and Akira swallows against the sudden jagged pain in his throat as he watches Shindou stare into the flame. Out of the tangle of mystery, then, one thing at least is undeniably clear. Silently, Shindou sets the lantern gently onto the water, giving a tiny push to send it on its way. Akira bows his head, accepting the knowledge that there is one master he will never play again.

Swirled by an eddy, the lanterns spin for a moment, bobbing and dipping against the inky water, then, caught by the current, slip away from the dock, pulled out into the stream. Shindou gasps, and suddenly he is grabbing for Akira's arm, scrambling up the steps and breaking into a ragged sprint down the dockside.

"Come on!"

"Shindou!" Akira stumbles, but his rival's hand is strong and urgent and he cannot pull away. "Shindou, wait!"

"Quick!" Their feet slap arrhythmically on the cobbles as they race the lanterns downstream, and by the time they reach the bridge Akira is panting for breath. He clutches the wooden rail as Shindou, beside him, leans on it, his eyes following the now-tiny flickers of the twin lanterns as they drift inexorably out to sea. Overhead, a rocket bursts with a bright flash and crackle, white fire glittering off the water and gleaming in Shindou's so-trendy hair. Akira turns his attention resolutely to the lanterns drifting towards the dark horizon, and he takes a moment to hope that the god of Go is waiting, somewhere out in the darkness.

At length, Shindou stirs beside him. "You... are you going to ask?"

"Would you tell me?" Akira tilts his head, examining Shindou's profile in the brief flashes of the fireworks that bloom overhead.

"...probably not." Shindou flicks a brief, impenetrable glance at him, then away again. "Not yet."

"Well, then." Akira returns his gaze to the horizon, aware that he will have to be satisfied with this for now. It is he who is here, and no one else. The sea is a wash of inky darkness, but Akira thinks that he can still see a flicker of light, in the distance. Beside him, Shindou's head is bowed, but after a moment he looks up.

"Hey Touya, let's get the bus back. I want to play a game."


End file.
